Doe
by sparkly green nail polish
Summary: He'd been carrying no identification on his person whasoever, so they'd dubbed him 'Doe', hoping they would find out his real name once he woke up. If he woke up.
1. Default Chapter

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own them - so you cant sue me. I'm merely borrowing.**

"Good, that's good,' Tempest adjusted her grip on the firm calf and gave her patient an encouraging smile, "Just one more, Doe."

He glared at her, exhaustion bleeding into warm brown eyes as he strained to bend his leg once more. A thin sheen of sweat beaded across his forehead, chest and neck as she watched him struggle, finally dropping onto his back with an annoyed grunt. Tempest smirked and pushed a handful of raven black hair back behind her ear, a faint grimace sweeping over her pixie like features as she smeared some oil on her cheek in the process. The scent of sandalwood drifted across to her nose, the only scent he deemed masculine enough to be used on his body so she'd been told.

Sweeping her green eyes over his raggedly breathing form, she inwardly marvelled at his ability to move at all. From what she'd read in his file, he'd been the victim of a horrific assault. Someone had taken a plank of wood littered with rusty old nails and drove it into his spine, kicked him in the head quite a few times, set him on fire, then dumped his body on the desk in the local emergency room before fleeing into the night. He'd had a severed spinal chord, a minimal amount of brain damage and no small amount of scars decorated his body. He was carrying no identification on his person whatsoever, hence he'd been dubbed 'Doe' by the hospital staff, hoping they'd find out his real name once he woke up. **_If_** he woke up. Only when he finally did awaken four months later, not only was he a hostile little bastard, he had a nasty case of amnesia. Needless to say 'Doe' had stuck.

"Have you tortured me enough today, **_Tempest_**." He spat vehemently, contempt plainly expressed in his dark eyes. She watched as he pushed himself into a sitting position, an olive skinned hand rubbing the aching leg he'd just been exercising. He glared at her with an eerily blank face, waiting.

"I don't know why you hate me so much, Doe. All I'm doing is help you get back on your feet."

A cold tingle swept up her spine. It felt like someone had hung her upside down and tipped something cold and syrupy down the length of her back. When she lifted her eyes, he was staring right through her, face no longer blank, but cold with fury.

"I don't want your help. I never asked for it."

"Doe,' she sighed, throwing him a t shirt as she rose to her feet, "You could be dying in a ditch and not ask for help. It's not like I want to be here anyway."

He sneered up at her, pulling the worn grey cotton over his head. "You're a fucking bitch, you know that."

A light, tinkling laugh floated from her lips, self depreciating smile on her face, "Wow, that's a new one. I'll have to remember it,' she leant down, her nose nearly brushing his, "And just so you know, you're no walk in the park either, you son of a bitch." It came out almost whisper quiet, and positively meaner than anything she'd ever said before despite the simplicity of her words, especially to a patient.

Unblinking brown eyes stared into green, neither of them willing to give in to the other. When he didn't respond, Tempest backed away and shook her head slowly, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Doe." Mocking she called over her shoulder.

He didn't even look at her as he threw back "Go to hell."

Her laughter was audible as she swung the front door open. "As I said, I'll see you tomorrow."

The door clicked shut, leaving her out in the hall alone. A loud roar came from inside, followed by the sound of breaking glass and another angry shout. Tempest frowned, leaning her head on the door lightly, a hand sliding up the dark wood to rest by the handle, tempted to go back inside and check on him after his uncharacteristic loss of self control.

'_No. No He'd only hate me more_,' she thought to herself, backing away quietly so he wouldn't know she was still there.

Despite their nasty bantering and arguments, Doe was her only outlet. The only place she could just relax and pretend she didn't care. Because he didn't know her. He didn't expect anything of her. Put it simply, he just didn't give a damn. He didn't want her to be someone she wasn't, didn't want to make her better for his own personal pleasure. Nor did he tell her she had to dye her hair blond and lose ten pounds.

Unlike her boyfriend whom was actively trying to do all of those things. The very same one she now had to go home to.

Things were great with Dale at first, perfect some would even go as far to say. He was considerate, fun loving, loyal and drop dead gorgeous to boot. Then he changed. In public he was the same guy that all her friends knew, the life of the party, but in private, he'd become picky, pushy and downright domineering. Telling her what to wear, what to say and how to act, even telling her to shed some pounds and get breast implants so he could have himself a perfect little trophy girlfriend.

Tempest ran a hand up over her flat stomach to her small breasts, scrutinising her body as she waited for the elevator to arrive. She sighed quietly. Only standing at 5'1" she was perfectly proportioned for her size. The word petite fit her to a tee, tiny her father used to call her as he'd wrap his bear like arms around her and engulf her in a hug that lifted her from her feet. But Dale said she wasn't curvy enough, then in the next breath he'd called her fat. Then he said her hair was too dark and skin too pale, he preferred blonds, so she'd told him to go and find a blond girlfriend instead. She wore the bruises for two weeks after that comment.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Tempest shoved her hands into her pockets for her keys, only to come up empty. **_Must have left them in the apartment_**, she thought nervously, eyes warily finding their way to Doe's door. She could still hear him throwing a tantrum inside, though he seemed to be running out of steam judging by his lack of swearing.

"Doe? I left my keys inside." She called tentatively, easing the door open slowly. He'd fallen silent the moment she'd called out to him.

"Holy shit.." she trailed off, looking around her feet. There was glass everywhere and broken pieces of plastic casing that could only belong to one thing. The television. The small coffee table that had previously held the TV was on its side with only one remaining leg and in the far corner of the dim apartment, amongst all the mess, sat Doe. His dark eyes were dully staring out the window, hands resting limply in his lap, chest heaving with each breath he took, legs spread out in front of him. "Doe? Are you alright, babe?"

He turned to look at her, face vacant from all expression. "What are you doing here?"

Tempest found herself taking an involuntary step backward when a rush of stinging fear washed over her, Doe's eyes trailing after her every step. He wasn't a big man at all, 5'10" at the most, but where he lacked in height one could tell that at 100 he wouldn't be a man to be tangled with. "I repeat," he murmured, cocking his head to the right, "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" His voice was velvety soft but it lacked any warmth whatsoever.

"I forgot my keys... They were on the table." She looked toward said table and inwardly quailed.

Doe smirked, lifting his hand slowly to dangle the set of keys in front of him. "You mean these?"

Tempest nodded, edging closer until she was within arms reach. "I.. I'll be going.."

He snatched them back out of her reach. "You're afraid. I can smell it." He accused, eyes narrowed.

Defensiveness reared its ugly head, making Tempest straighten. "I am not. Now hand over my keys." She held her hand out impatiently and scowled at his short snicker, his entire face darkening when she snatched them from his grip.

"You're a liar, Tempest."

"When have I lied?"

Doe laughed at her, mocking. "All the fucking time. You pretend to be happy. You're not. You think you know who you are.. You don't. You say you're not afraid, when you're terrified. You're a liar, Tempest. Your entire life is a fucking lie." He ground out, dark eyes staring right through her, chilling her.

"I don't know who I am! You're one to talk!" As soon as the words had left her mouth she wanted to take them back. The cold fire that had lit up his eyes seconds before went out, that blank expressionless emptiness slipping back into place.

"Alright," he said softly, "You've made your point. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Doe, I-"

"MY NAME IS **_NOT_** DOE!" His chest was rapidly rising and falling, fists clenching tightly in his lap. When he spoke again it was quieter, more collected. "You're right. I don't know who I am. I'm a jerk and it was all my fault I was mobbed. Leave." Tempest reached a hand out slightly as if to comfort him, but he waved her off. "I said LEAVE!"

Holding her hands up in front of her, she slowly backed away, nodding. "Alright, I'm gone. I'm sorry."

A dry, humourless laugh escaped his lips. "No you're not. I'm not going to tell you for a forth time." His tone was final, a warning and it made Tempest want to run away and hide somewhere safe and warm where no-one could find her ever again..

"I'll see you tomorrow," she managed quietly, unable to meet his gaze. Instinctively she felt more than saw his slight inclination of his head.

As she closed the door behind her, Tempest felt her fear dissipate slightly, keys clenched tight in her small fist. The breath she hadn't realised she was holding rushed from her lungs and her hands started shaking. Only then did it dawn on her how scared she had truly been minutes ago, and just how perceptive Doe really was. Like he didn't pay attention at all, but noticed everything. He tended to get grumpy when he was in pain, his little display proof of the fact.

Squaring her shoulders, Tempest quickly made for the stairs, suddenly feeling the urge to get as far away from Doe as possible, unwilling to admit just how spot on he'd been in his accusations.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own em, so you can't sue me! I merely liberated the idea of them.. temporarily.. hmm.. maybe liberated isn't the right word?**

**A/N: I got a review asking if this is indeed a DA fic, so to answer that question, Yes it is. I'm not really sure how to explain things, but it does center around a character from the show.**

**This chapter has rape in it, although not as graphic as it could be it could offend some, so be forewarned.**

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Dale's eyes followed her as she moved around the kitchen busily preparing dinner.

Only just home from work, he perused his girlfriend with a heavy gaze, taking in the low slung black sweats and still damp hair that was now piled up on her hair in a messy black bun. The air held a soft, warm scent, vanilla, like she'd only just showered. His eyes narrowed dangerously, '_she's only just gotten home'_ a voice rumbled in his head. She was due home a good two hours before he was.  
  
Tempest still hadn't noticed him yet, so she couldn't see the tell tale narrowing of his eyes, or his big meaty fists clenching at his sides ready to swing. Unaware of the present danger, she continued on with her cooking, singing quietly in a soft melodic voice.

"You've been at that nutcase's house today, haven't you." He spat angrily. He'd moved closer before she could react, taking her small hands in his huge ones and lifting them to his nose. Confused, she tried to pull her hands away.

"What? What are you talking about? And what are you doing?" struggling to free herself, it suddenly clicked in her mind why he was sniffing her hands. He was trying to see if they smelt of sandalwood. Despite her frenzied scrubbing in the shower, the scent still lingered, barely.  
  
Blue eyes narrowed even more, flashing with fury. "What is it about that little cripple that has all you stupid women flocking to him?! All I hear is '_Doe this_' and '_Doe that'_ day in and day out. You spend more time taking care of a complete stranger than you do your own boyfriend!"  
  
His grip on her wrists tightened, painfully so, and Tempest winced, straining against him. "Dale you're hurting me!"

He chuckled, pulling her struggling form closer and squeezing tighter. "Really, Temp, what is it about him? Tell me, I'm dying to know here.. Is it his bad attitude, his looks,' he laughed meanly, "Lord knows it can't be his body!"

"Dale, he's a patient! That's all! He requires near constant care and nobody else will go near him!" she pleaded with her eyes for him to release her, but he refused to acknowledge the plea.

"Please let me go.." she whimpered now, distantly hearing the hissing of overflowing water as it hit the hotplate behind her through the pounding in her ears.

"I don't want you touching him, Tempest." He growled into her face, close enough for her to smell the acrid smell of beer and bourbon on his breath. Weakly, she pushed against him, fear starting to paralyse her.

"But.. He's my patient, I can't just stop seeing-" A sharp, blinding slap caught her across the cheek, effectively silencing her, followed by a rush of stinging warmth. Instantly, she knew the skin was broken. Dale's thunderous expression burned into her, making her feel dirty.

"I said I don't want you touching him," his eyes strayed to a point over her shoulder, a dangerous glint appearing in the cold blue orbs, "And I know just how to stop you from doing that." He finished with a sharp tug, spinning her around to face the glowing red element of the hotplate, the saucepan shoved across into the nearby sink.  
  
Tempest recoiled in horror. He wouldn't dare.. "Dale.. Please.. No, donnnn- " she trailed off with a scream, his thick, stronger fingers prising her clenched fingers open and pushing her hand palm down on the burning hot stove where he held it down with one hand as she jerked and pulled. Meanwhile the other hand shoved its way down the front of her sweats to the warm juncture between her thighs, not wasting any time in pushing beneath the elastic of her panties, where thick fingers forced themselves inside her.  
  
Unprepared for the unwelcome intrusion, Tempest let out a strangled scream, whimpering as she tried her hardest to move away from the invading digits. The foul smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, even more so as Dale's strong hand relented and his grip fell away from her now shaking and seared hand to yank her sweats to her ankles, soon joined by her panties. By now, the dainty, pixie like featured girl was sobbing, a mixture of pain and humiliation with more than a little fear thrown in for good measure.

"Stop! Please stop.." she cried even harder as he slammed her against the counter, the sharp edge digging into her soft stomach. The pain in her hand was all but forgotten as she felt Dale push himself inside her and start thrusting, frenzied. One of his hands slid up the length of her back and buried itself in her hair, forcing her head down onto the counter top where her cheek rested on the sharpening stone she'd used a short time ago to sharpen a knife. Her cheek scratched painfully across it with each upward thrust, a raw patch quickly developing over her left cheekbone. All she could do was sob.  
  
It didn't take long before he came with a loud grunt, quickly pulling out of her and stepping back with a disgusted sneer. She slid bonelessly to the cold tile floor and brought her knees to her chest, huddling against the cupboard, her severely burnt hand cradled to her chest.  
  
"Clean this damn place up, Tempest. I want dinner ready by the time I get back!" he snapped, then made a hasty exit still zipping his fly. Tempest blinked at the fresh onset of tears and dared a look at her scorched palm, openly sobbing when her eyes took in the raw and bloody hand and the thick smear of blood that seeped from between her tightly pressed together thighs.  
  
Without another thought, she painfully climbed to her feet and pulled up her sweats one handed, slipping her feet into a nearby pair of scuffs. Even though she was only a physiotherapist, she knew when a wound needed immediate medical attention, and her hand was in dire need of it now. Each step hurt more than the last, but she forced herself to grab her keys and flee the apartment building to her car, praying she was long gone before Dale returned.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Italics represent flashbacks, or memories, whatever you want to call them.**

Doe frowned at the TV screen that sat at the end of his bed, eyes straying to the old radio alarm clock that sat atop it.

Tempest had been due at his place around three p.m. At first when she didn't show up he didn't pay it any heed and set to doing some sit ups to pass the time. Four p.m. had rolled around and he was annoyed at her lack of promptness. Then five p.m. had come and she still wasn't there and he started to get curious as to what was so important she could blow off her patients on a whim without letting them know she wasn't coming. Then six, and seven and eight... And he was slightly concerned. It wasn't like her to just not show up for their daily appointment. Even if she were only five minutes late, she'd usually call and tell him she was on her way or held up at a sector point. Always. It wasn't like their argument the previous day would deter her from coming, she knew the words were only that, words.  
  
Fighting the irrational concern he felt welling up in his chest, Doe picked up the remote and changed the channel, wriggling his toes every now and then to keep the circulation going. Tempest had told him to call her if there were any vast improvements overnight in his condition. There had been a knock at the door around nine thirty and he was halfway to the door before he realised he was walking unassisted, albeit slowly and rather unsteadily. Once he realised though, he promptly fell over and couldn't get back up again. Well, not as easily as he had moments before. But still, in his book that constituted as a vast improvement, so he'd tried to call her but there was no answer. Oddly enough, he'd felt strangely disappointed when her bubbly voice didn't answer and share his excitement. That was last night.  
  
He stopped flicking and scowled at his pattern of thought. I'm supposed to be mad at her, he thought vehemently, literally shaking himself. His eyes strayed back to the clock. _4:27p.m_. She'd missed another appointment.  
  
Settling into the soft down of his covers, Doe sighed and rested a long fingered hand on his bare stomach, eyes vacantly staring at the old dying TV screen.

"Shoulda thrown you," he muttered at the television, glaring distastefully at the practically ancient idiot box. Remorse filled him as he thought of his beloved plasma screen TV in pieces on the floor in the days prior. The picture flickered then hazed, the all too familiar tell tale blue bordered eyes flashing up upon the screen.

"Fucking Eyes Only! I was watching that!" he shouted, throwing the remote at said television as the faceless voice droned on about some political bullshit. He felt a familiar spark of annoyance as the voice spoke for longer than the promised sixty seconds and threw his hands up in victory as he heard 'peace. Out.'. For some unknown reason the guy just rubbed him the wrong way.  
  
"Sanctimonious little rich kid whose got nothing better to do with his time, what's the bet Mr. Purple." He said absently, looking at the curled up ball of fur on the end of the bed. The tabby cat, Mr. Purple, merely lifted his head slightly enough to give him a steady '_you woke me up for that_?' stare, then settled back into the covers and went back to sleep.

Doe quirked a brow at the feline and nudged it with his foot, "Don't ignore me pussy cat. I had a rant all planned for you, but as you're too good for me, I think I'll keep it to myself." He nodded to himself and shot Mr. Purple a look, smothering his annoyance. The damn thing was still asleep and ignoring him. "**Fine**, I know when I'm not wanted."  
  
Muttering to himself, Doe slowly rose to his feet and shuffled alongside the wall, a hand sliding behind him in his wake. He'd made it to the door when a barrage of images hit him full force, sending him to his knees.

_Himself sitting on a stool in the centre of a stage, hair slicked back wearing a tuxedo, spotlight trained upon him as his fingers expertly flew over the fine strings of a violin. Utter silence other than the music that flowed from talented hands. A standing ovation, the roar of the crowd almost deafening.  
  
Himself again, in fatigues this time, running an obstacle course with at least fifteen others at his back, none of them even close to breaking a sweat. A blonde jogged leisurely beside him, unspeaking, the silence comfortable. There were armed guards positioned at random intervals watching them like hawks.  
  
"Are you guys ready?", a dark haired beauty, "I'm always ready.", the blonde from the obstacle course, "Funny, that's what Lola said." Himself.  
  
The feeling of something slamming into the back of his head. Blackness._

Gasping, Doe tightly fisted his fingers in his scruffy black hair, eyes starting to focus on the dingy grey carpet beneath him. His temples throbbed and his back ached, legs stinging from the awkward fall and pins and needles. A hand slowly brushed over the spot on the back of his head where he'd been hit in his vision... memory... Thing.

The spot pulsed slightly underneath his fingers.  
  
"What the **_fuck_** was that?!"  
  
He shook his head slowly, feeling as though someone had stuffed his skull with cotton wool and children's craft paste.

Light in some places and thick and heavy in others. His grip on the back of his head tightened, tufts of raven hair peeking through between fingers as he blinked a few times in quick succession, trying to clear his head. He leant his head back against the door jam carefully, his hand moving to fist itself in the nylon fabric of his basketball shorts. Everything looked blurry, but sharp at the same time, confusing him.  
  
Once he could see the pattern in the wood on the other side of the door jam, though he was still in definite pain, his eyes took in his legs, scraped and bleeding in some places from the fall he'd taken. Experimentally, he prodded one of the more abused spots, fingers coming away slick with candy apple red blood. Surprisingly, the wound didn't hurt like he'd expected it to. All the pain he felt radiated from his back and ebbed through the rest of his body like a pulse, spreading like fire through gasoline.  
  
"Could this get any fucking worse," he grumbled. His head started to throb, literally pounding, making him wince. More addled memories flooded his head, the process more gradual this time than the last.

__

_A thin blonde woman stared at him coolly from her position behind her sterile desk, fingers steepled tightly across a closed manilla folder. _

_"Soldier, state your designation and Unit!" _

_"__X5-511, Alpha Red, Ma'am!" _

_She smiled at him, a flicker of apprehension swelling in his gut at her supposedly innocent gesture. "And what rank are you in that unit, 511?" _

_"Lieutenant, Ma'am." _

_Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask for the ranking we gave you, 511. I asked for your unit rank." She was standing now, walking around the desk and standing at a distance he ultimately felt was too close. Her breath brushed by his cheek and she smiled a sickly sweet smile. _

_Revulsion swept through him as he remained silent, but he refused to let it show. _

_"Now, 511, your rank..?" _

_He blinked, then replied emotionless, "Beta, Ma'am." _

_Instantly her face brightened at his admission. "Beta? So you're number 2 then.. Tell me 511. Who is Alpha of your little pack then?" _

_"I'm not at liberty to disclose such information." He bit out, staring at a point over her shoulder. _

_"You will tell me, 511." Her tone was becoming more impatient, angrier by the second. Her scent changed as the fury flooded her eyes at his silence. _

_"GUARDS! TAKE HIM TO PSY-OPS!', she levelled him with what she thought to be a hard, commanding glare, "Maybe a month down there will make you more open for conversation, 511?" _

_Before he could control himself, "Not likely." _

_Her eyes narrowed more, "Two months."  
  
"Oh wonderful! A holiday!" he snapped imperviously, glaring right back.  
  
"Three."  
  
"You're a joke, Renfro."  
  
"That is Director Renfro to you, soldier! FOUR MONTHS"  
  
A chuckle bubbled up in his throat, but was pushed back down before it could surface. He'd scented the fear emanating from her five minutes ago. For someone so afraid of them, she spent a lot of time trying to intimidate them. He stayed silent this time. For a minute.  
  
"Permission to speak, Ma'am?" _

_Reluctantly, she leant back against the edge of the desk, arms folded across her chest. He could see the victory starting to seep into her eyes, no doubt under the impression he would tell her who his Alpha was, giving her insider knowledge into their workings. "Granted."  
  
"How does it feel? Being the bottom of the food chain, that is.. Knowing that one false move is all it could take and you'd be dead thirteen times before you hit the floor? Not knowing, nor understanding why we don't just overthrow you and kill you all.."  
  
"THAT IS ENOUGH 511! I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS KIND OF INSUBORDINATION! SIX MONTHS IN PSY-OPS AND TWO IN ISOLATION!"  
  
He lifted his hand in a mock salute and strolled from the office without being dismissed. He stopped to motion to the waiting guards who had undoubtedly heard the entire conversation between himself and Renfro. Both burly men were shifting from foot to foot nervously. _

_"Well, ladies? I believe we have a date with destiny." _

_"You've got a death wish, kid." The elder of the two muttered, a man either side lifting him by the biceps and dragging him down the hall.  
  
The barracks were on their way, the small barred window in the centre of the thick steel door catching his eye. Piercing, unfeeling eyes met his as they passed. A fleeting look of sympathy flitted across the eyes in the window, along with gratitude and pride.  
  
Seconds later he was being strapped down to a table, a bit being forced into his mouth. _

_"You better be worth this you cocky son of a bitch." He mentally said to himself, mind trailing back to his Alpha's eyes in the window. As the pain began, his last fleeting thought was of his Alpha.  
  
'I hate you sometimes, 494.' Then his instincts kicked in, effectively erasing all knowledge of his unit, just so he could be sure they wouldn't find out anything and he wouldn't be labelled a traitor._

Doe rubbed his eyes, memories of pain burned so deep into his minds eye that he knew what he'd just remembered had to be true and not something from some dodgy pre-pulse movie.

He'd called himself X5-511. An X5 was one of those mutants on the television that people were being warned about. A sudden rush of fear swept down his aching spine. What if Tempest had finally had enough of his mood swings and had seen the barcode he knew he must have? After all, one can't exactly see the back of their own neck can they. Maybe that's why she hadn't turned up? Maybe they were coming to get him? Maybe-  
  
"Doe? What are you doing on the floor? Why are you bleeding?!" her voice started out soft and nervous, wounded, then hardened at the sight of the bloody wounds here and there.  
  
Startled, Doe looked up at Tempest, not hearing her come in. "Mr. Purple didn't want my company any more, and I fell as I was walking out on him."

Even as he was talking he was making a mental note of her injuries. The swollen cheek, bandaged hand, stitched eyebrow and her tense stance that screamed 'pain'. To top it off... She was medicated. Heavily. An unidentifiable rage blossomed in his chest at her condition.

Obviously his scrutiny went unnoticed as her face lit up happily. "Walked? As in 'pfft, forget you, I'm outta here' walked?!"  
  
He stared at her until her smile faded and she shifted nervously.

"What?" Patting the scratchy grey carpet beneath him, he motioned for her to sit down, then waited for her to arrange herself, pretending not to notice her grimace.

"You can stay here if you want to."

Her gaze immediately flew to his. "What are you talking about? Why would I- "

"Not for you. For me', He lied somewhat, "I've been remembering things. That's why I fell." He admitted softly. It wasn't a complete lie. Ultimately, his guise must have worked and he saw her soften.

"I think it might be best then... I don't want you regressing back to permanent use of your chair." He could smell the lie on her, but relaxed slightly nonetheless, her relief evident in her posture.

"So.. Apparently I played the Violin."

Tempest flinched slightly, shocked at his sudden admission. "Really? I've always wanted to play the violin."


End file.
